


The Old Ones, They Knew You, My Love

by bertie456 (bertee)



Series: Bones: You're Lovely to Me [20]
Category: Bones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-01
Updated: 2008-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-27 20:25:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/299718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bertee/pseuds/bertie456





	The Old Ones, They Knew You, My Love

For Seeley Booth, two of the most dreaded words of the English Language were 'performance review'.

He could deal with getting shot at by serial killers, working with a team of mostly incomprehensible squints and talking a six-year-old out of decorating his bedroom walls with his favorite green crayon, but those two words made him seriously consider feigning illness, death or pregnancy in order to avoid the yearly meeting with his boss.

Sitting on an uncomfortable chair outside Cullen's office, Booth felt the familiar sense of foreboding that had been with him throughout his many trips to the principal's office in high school. Playing nervously with his poker chip, he ran through a list of possible excuses in his head, fully aware that, when taken out of context, some of his actions over the past year could be seen to be questionable. Hell, even with all the context in the world, there was no way he could make shooting an innocent ice cream truck seem like a valid use of FBI ammunition.

"You can go in now, Agent Booth."

Jolted out of his anxious thoughts by the voice of his boss' secretary, Booth got quickly to his feet, throwing the woman a smile as he said briefly, "Thanks, Sally." The woman nodded in return and he walked over to the door, knocking once before entering.

"Sit down, Booth," Cullen instructed, not looking up from what Booth guessed was his file.

Swallowing hard, he took his seat and waiting for the older man to finish his examination of his record. Finally, Cullen dropped it to the desk, asking tiredly, "Where do I start, Booth?"

Wisely keeping his mouth shut, Booth dropped his eyes to the ground as Cullen continued, "When most agents have their annual review, I have to tell them to keep up with their paperwork, and to work on their success rate with cases. With some of the younger ones, I might have to warn them to stop stealing office equipment. However, you are the only one who needs me to tell them to shoot fewer clowns."

Hearing the man's voice become angrier at the end of his sentence, Booth cringed inwardly, hoping his clown-shooting tendencies would've been broached later in the review.

Taking a deep breath, the Deputy Director looked at the file, finding the necessary dates. "Your last review took place on November 2nd 2006, correct?"

"Yes, Sir," Booth replied automatically, quickly trying to work out exactly what would fall under the purview of this year's review.

"And I seem to remember telling you to keep a close eye on your partner, yes?"

Booth nodded, remembering the lengthy chastisement he'd received the year before concerning Brennan's kidnap and attempted murder by Agent Kenton, and wondering where his boss was going with this.

"So you decided to interpret that instruction as "Take your squint undercover with you in Las Vegas and almost get the both of you killed"?" he asked irritably, almost challenging the younger agent to deny it.

 _Is there even a right answer to that question?_ Booth thought, miserably, before attempting an answer. "I know it wasn't done properly, Sir, but Dr Brennan was..." _Gorgeous. Hot. Inclined to feel my ass when undercover._ "Very professional. We managed to solve the case without putting either of us in any immediate danger."

A smirk played on the corners of Cullen's mouth as he informed him, "You know I get copies of all my agents' medical reports for injuries sustained in the line of duty."

 _Medical reports? Why would... Damn._

Apparently his thoughts showed on his face, and Cullen continued, "To put it bluntly, Booth, someone beat the crap out of you." He scanned the report, reading aloud, "Severe bruising, rib fractures, concussion..."

Not needing to hear the full details of just how badly he got his ass kicked before his partner helped out, he cut in, "There was no lasting damage, Sir, and the outcome of that fight helped us solve the case." Unable to stop himself, he added, "And I won that fight." _So there._

Cullen sighed. "Booth, I don't care if you beat the whole US Marine Corp, neither you nor your partner will engage in any other undercover operations without full training and preparation, understood?"

"Yes, Sir." _Unless, you know, an opportunity just happens to present itself._

"And that means under any circumstances. You do not get to play dress up just because an opportunity presents itself."

"Yes, Sir," he replied, somewhat deflated by his boss' apparent mind-reading abilities.

Satisfied, Cullen moved onto the next point. "After your return from Las Vegas, your partner and another squint were kidnapped and buried alive by the Gravedigger."

Booth felt his heart constrict at the mention of the case. He eyed the older man boldly, but couldn't stop the pleading thoughts from filling his mind. _Please, please don't tell me it was my fault. I know it was; I know I should've stopped her from being taken or got there sooner or done something more... I hear it from myself everyday. I don't need to hear it from you too._

Cullen met his eyes, and spoke quietly but firmly, "Make sure you work on catching the bastard."

Breathing an inward sigh of relief, Booth nodded, saying with conviction, "Trust me, I will."

Returning to the file, he moved reluctantly on to the next point, "Regarding your brief suspension, I feel we covered all necessary points when you were reinstated."

 _Yep. I distinctly remember covering the fact that I was right and you were wrong,_ Booth thought smugly, tempted to feign ignorance and make his boss admit, yet again, that he'd been wrong in firing him. However, thinking of what was inevitably to come, he decided it was best not to antagonise the man just yet.

This judgement was quickly proven to be sound, as Cullen then stated, "You dropped a serial killer off a balcony."

"Actually, he jumped," the agent corrected, trying not to make it sound like he'd disposed of Epps in the same way a child would dispose of a water bomb.

His boss didn't seem interested in the difference, clarifying, "Yes, he jumped, you caught him, then you dropped him." _Like a water bomb._ "You saw a psychiatrist because of it?"

 _Damn you and your trick questions._ "Well, partly because of Epps, Sir."

Cullen looked up, eyebrows raised as he inquired, "Partly? What other reason was there?"

Knowing there was no way he could phrase this and come off sounding sane, Booth took the plunge. "I shot a clown speaker on an ice cream truck."

Recognition dawned for the Deputy Director and he leaned back in the chair with a sigh. "At least with stapler theft I know what to say." He looked at his agent. "I presume your shrink cleared you for active duty, so there's not much I can threaten you with..." Booth's relieved expression vanished as he finished, "But if you pull your gun on anything that isn't a suspect, a fleeing vehicle or a squint again, I will have your badge before you can say 'popsicle'."

Slightly offended by the ice cream jibe but happy that he still had permission to shoot the squints, Booth remained silent, trying to figure out what his boss would pick up on next. _Sully? No, I managed to avoid any murder charges there. Bones' book copycat murders? I can't see how that would be my fault. Knocking that karate guy of the balcony? Hopefully he's reached his balcony-dropping-quota for the day._

He didn't have to wait long for his answer as Cullen said incredulously, "Earlier this year you were captured and assaulted by Hugh Kennedy. Who has one leg."

Booth leapt in with a correction again, trying to salvage some of his ego, "Actually, Kennedy didn't do any assaulting, he just-"

"Were you or were you not knocked out and restrained by a one-legged old man?"

Ignoring his bruised and whimpering ego, Booth nodded, embarrassed. Cullen pursed his lips in annoyance. "This does not look good, Booth. To have one of my best agents incapacitated by Long John Silver..." He sighed. "And then you went and got yourself held hostage and assaulted by some morons from West Virginia."

Skipping over the possibility that someone could 'get themselves held hostage', Booth inwardly bristled at the second mention of the word 'assaulted' _. Assault is what you get charged with after a bar brawl. Getting tied to a chair, kicked, beaten and stabbed with a hot pointy screwdriver constitutes torture. And torture requires sympathy. Not a lecture on how I shouldn't_ _let_ _myself get stabbed with hot pointy things._ Biting his tongue, he offered up the only response he could think of, "Sorry, Sir."

Cullen's gaze visibly softened, and he said chidingly, "I don't want you to be sorry, Booth; I just don't want it happening again."

 _Oh yeah, because I was so keen to go another round,_ he thought sarcastically. _Gee, I wish I could get tortured for information every day._ Unable to voice these opinions to his boss, Booth settled for another nod and, at the risk of sounding like a broken record, another "Yes, Sir."

Scanning the file, Cullen leaned forward, lacing his fingers together as he said simply, "You arrested Max Keenan."

Hoping to pre-empt his question, Booth defended, "Dr Brennan and I are still working together fine, despite my arrest of her father. We've discussed it briefly in therapy and there should be no issue when his case comes to trial..."

He trailed off as he heard Cullen chuckle. He eyed him quizzically and the older man spoke, "I'm not worried about the trial, Booth. That's what that kid shrink of yours is there to deal with. No, I'm talking about the footage that parking lot security sent me."

 _Footage? What have I done in a parking lot? There was that time with Rebecca, but that was way before last year... Oh..._

"Where in the FBI guidelines does it say that it's acceptable practice to engage in a spurious fistfight with an elderly arrestee?"

 _Right after the part about Deputy Directors taking a perverse pleasure in humiliating agents who are just trying to do the right thing by their partners' fugitive, murderous fathers,_ he answered bitterly, but adapted his reply before speaking. "I didn't want the added medical complications of shooting him for resisting arrest."

His boss rolled his eyes before looking at him curiously. "You're what, thirty-eight, thirty-nine?"

 _Thirty-nine?_ "Thirty-five, Sir."

Cullen nodded. "And Max Keenan is old enough to legitimately ask people to give up their seat on the bus for him. Do you see where I'm going with this, Booth?"

"Yes," he replied dejectedly, feeling like someone on the tracks seeing an oncoming train.

"Do you want to tell me what I'm going to say?"

 _No. Stupid question. Why would anyone want to say that they got blindsided by someone twice their age? Unless maybe you were two and they were four._ "I should've taken him down a lot faster and easier than I did."

"Precisely," Cullen said severely. "This is the Federal Bureau of Investigation, not a provider of punchbags for geriatrics."

Booth desperately wanted to inquire if Cullen himself was young enough to refer to Max Keenan as a geriatric, but thought better of it. Instead he settled for something slightly more subtle. "So, I'm allowed to take down a suspect in a fight as long as they don't hit me back?"

"You got it," the senior agent answered with a slight smirk and Booth relaxed back in his chair, shaking his head slightly. Moving on, he said with a barely hidden smile, "Only a couple of incidents left now. Firstly, Halloween."

"What about Halloween?" Booth asked innocently, aware of what he was referring to.

"Well, you shot another clown, for starters, which leads me to repeat my earlier advice that you should really do that less often." Booth opened his mouth to protest but Cullen cut him off, "But I know this was a serial-killing clown who shot you in the stomach and in the leg, so I'll let off on this one."

"Actually-" ' _Actually' what? The crazy clown didn't shoot me, but my irresponsible, gun wielding partner did? 'Cause that'll go down so well._ Realising the error of informing his boss that Brennan had shot someone else in the leg, Booth wisely kept his mouth shut.

"No, it's not the shooting I have a problem with. It's the message I received from dispatch telling me that you thought it'd be fun to go chasing killers in costume." Booth swallowed hard. "From what I hear, yours wasn't so bad, although why you'd choose to dress like a squint is beyond me, but being dressed as Wonder Woman does not make that partner of yours any more suited to the field. Quite the opposite in fact. If you want her to dress up for you in the lab, that's really not my business, but when you're on FBI duty, you go by the book."

Booth's mind didn't get past "dress up for you in the lab". Determined to get any thoughts of Temperance Brennan in revealing costumes out of his head, he corrected his boss, "Dr Brennan and I aren't together like that."

Cullen smiled wryly at him. "Oh, I know. There'd be a lot more yelling involved in this review if I thought you were."

Thanking heaven for small mercies, Booth looked attentively at Cullen, mentally singing, _And now the end is near..._

"According to your record, you and Dr Brennan were blown up in a taxi about a week ago."

The end suddenly seemed anything but near. Resignedly, the younger agent answered in the affirmative. "Yes. We were transporting some remains found in the Gormogon vault to-"

Ignoring his explanation, Cullen made his point succinctly. "In the last three years, you've been blown up by a fridge, a dead body and a bag left by your taxi. These explosions have happened at a rate of approximately one a year, and by some staggering coincidence, have all been committed by different parties. This leads me onto your targets for the next year, Booth. In addition to shooting no more clowns, and doing everything you can to catch the Gravedigger, your personal goal is to make it to the next review without being blown up in any way, shape or form, do you understand me?"

 _That's it? That's my goal for the year? Why not just tell me to keep breathing for a whole year? Or to not jump out of any airplanes without a parachute?_ The sarcastic, mocking part of his mind was soon silenced by the part that was grateful for the relatively easy task to complete before the next review. Seeing that Cullen was waiting for his final answer, he said for the last time, "Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."

Receiving a dismissive nod, Booth got quickly to his feet and beat a hasty retreat, thankful that the excruciating, humiliating and awkward procedure was over for another twelve months.

Cullen watched him go with a smirk, before pulling out a Post-It and carrying out his usual post-review pastime. Thinking hard, he jotted down what he guessed would arise in the next year's review. Granted, Booth was more unpredictable than most of his agents, but he usually got a few things right. Scanning this year's file, he wrote quickly:

 _Predictions for S. Booth - Will shoot either the cannibal or the Gravedigger. May shoot a squint. A squint may also return fire. Will get in a fight with a suspect but will probably win. Will take his partner undercover at every opportunity, against my express instructions. Will either be kidnapped or save someone from kidnappers (fifty-fifty chance as to which)._

Smiling, he added one final thing before closing the file for the year.

 _Will definitely, one hundred percent, absolutely get blown up._


End file.
